


Kurt's Friend

by vtn



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-17 09:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An aspiring record label exec becomes intrigued with the mysterious Kurtis Rush, and is drawn into an obsessive quest to discover his identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kurt's Friend

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of fun from an alternate universe where Erol Alkan continued to refer to himself as Kurtis Rush ([myspace here](http://www.myspace.com/kurtisrush)) and run around with a balaclava over his head, becoming increasingly secretive throughout the years.

Kurtis Rush lives somewhere amongst the strata of London and waits for the stories to pile up. There are your people who "don't like attention" and then there are your people who don't like attention. Kurt isn't modest, and he's not paranoid. Kurt's friend told me he just wants to stay honest, stay real, and maybe it's a misguided attempt, maybe it's sanctimonious but regardless of his reasons the man avoids fame like it's going to make him sick. Mainly because he thinks it is going to make him sick.

He's good at what he does though. And while he doesn't want attention, business—he's always looking for business. I phoned his record company back in '02 because I wanted one of his mixes on a B-side. I figured it would be the usual thing where we meet and have a conversation and then he sends me the track and if I like it he gets paid and if I don't like it he doesn't or he goes back and edits it till I do. I didn't know any of what they were saying, I was just another bloke trying to get a dance label started and I liked the guy's mixes.

Here's what they told me at the label: "Sure, I'll arrange a meeting with David Shields for you, is Friday lunch all right?" 

I asked them who's David Shields, they say, oh, he's Kurt's friend. He handles business.

Dave Shields and I have a good lunch. He's a fairly nondescript type. Collared shirt with the sleeves unbuttoned, solid color jumper, slacks and Converse. It's a look you get accustomed to over time. One of my artists says you can tell what type of music someone plays if you check the color of the Converse and how worn out it is; the indie kids always wear their Converse until their toes stick through or something, but I don't know, I never got that sharp. Anyway Shields and I discuss the sound we want and the deadline and he admonishes me, you know, Kurt does what he wants so if it's not exactly what you're looking for don't be surprised.

I ask him if Kurt's out of town or what. He says no, Kurt's probably in town, he just takes a while sometimes. He works when the fancy strikes him.

"I'm not—is there something I'm missing? You don't even know if he's in town or not?" I'm trying to be polite but I'm confused.

"I just handle business," says Shields. He shrugs. 

\---

Two weeks later or thereabouts—I asked for within three weeks if you can—I walk out the door and there's a package at the doorstep. There's a CD inside and there's a couple mixes of the track on it. There's also a note that says "Pay Shieldsy if you like them. Love Kurt." Oh did I mention the package has my address on it but there's no postage or other markings. Definitely not a return address. I probably wouldn't have heard the delivery lorry come by anyhow but I have a strong feeling none ever did.

Of course I love what he's done. One is very 'dancefloor', with a strong hip hop beat underneath the vocals from the original song and the synth line coming in on a different instrument than the original about halfway through the song, and then about halfway through it goes quiet and then there's a bass drop that makes me tap my foot and nod my head. The other one is chilled out, with a bit of acoustic guitar and vocal harmonies added. It seems really private so I decide to keep it to myself. I guess maybe I'm selfish but I wonder how many people get to hear Kurt Rush's voice.

I write out a check to Shields and I'm about to mail it when I start to wonder about something. Namely, did Kurt do his mail delivery himself? Does he even live by here? I do a web search first and since I don't find anything but his website I start to get curious and I look him up in the phone directory. Still nothing. I end up going to the National Archives and searching everything they've got.

There is no Kurtis Rush. 

For that matter, there's no Kurtize Rusje, which his website says is the man's birth name though the biography on there is dubious at best and mainly fantastic. And yeah, I know—I've been an idiot. Of course he doesn't exist. Why would I make out a check in the name of Dave Shields if it's supposed to get to a bloke called Kurt Rush? Should have been obvious from the start. It's all just a publicity thing by Shields, trying to make an interesting character out of himself, whatever. 

But now I'm obsessed by this whole personal delivery bit, as you could imagine. So I write Shields after the payment goes through and tell him how much I liked the remix. He says nothing about "weren't there two remixes?" but anyway I ask him can he do another one up for another band's single and Shields says he'll let Kurt know and he'll get back to me. I end up giving Kurt another three weeks and I tell some of my artists and mates about the whole thing. Some of them have similar stories about never getting to see the man face to face. I hold onto my cards, I want to be the only one who knows about him really being Shields. I want to be the first one to show everyone what I've figured out. Like I said, maybe I'm selfish.

Anyway we keep watch. We look for people walking down the street. We watch in the morning and the dead of night, whenever I'm awake basically. As you'd guess, we miss the man. Neighbors didn't see anyone either. His package shows up looking same as the last one. 

"Sorry acoustic mix wasn't your bag. Hope this is what you're looking for. Love Kurt." 

I can't really imagine Shields writing these notes, especially with that 'Love Kurt' signoff, but then maybe people who wear navy blue Converse are especially good at getting in character. And of course I love the remix. This one is more funky, like one of those Chicago house records with old crackly soul samples cut to bits and Frankensteined. 

I pay Shields and I apologize and tell him to "tell Kurt" I really did like the acoustic mix, Shields says all right, he'll let him know. Sounds like he doesn't know what he's talking about. 

Before I hang up, on a whim I ask Shields if he's ever actually met Kurt himself. 

"Here and there," says Shields. "He's a bit hard to track down."

I stop bothering the man and thank him for his help, as confused as ever.

\---

There's a party in an old underground garage. A mate's girlfriend heard about it from her cousin's fella. It sounded good and a way to escape the rain, so we all got on the bus and headed over. Mate and his lady quickly decided it's not their scene, so they run off and I stay behind. Even though I'm alone I can't possibly leave. It's like nothing I've seen before. People are dressed in all kinds of clothes. Some of them I can't tell if they're gay or straight. Some of them I can't tell if they're boys or girls, even. They're laughing and talking. The music is everything from Detroit to 80's pop, and everyone just keeps dancing. Someone orders pizza and whoever hands me the box encourages me to take a slice before I pass it on. 

The person I pass it on to is Dave Shields. 

"Nice to see a familiar face!" I say. He smiles, but raises his eyebrows.

"Can't say I'm not surprised to see you here. I mean, no offense meant, I just never had you pegged as the type. How'd you hear about the party?"

"Usual, know someone who knows someone, thing." He nods. "I expect you're playing tonight then?" Shields' eyebrows furrow.

"Playing? Me? No, I'm not much of the DJ myself." Still playing the part!

I inhale deeply and gesture him to step aside. "Look, I mean, it's not hard to figure out," I say. "And I really do want to tell you how much I enjoyed your work." Shields laughs uncomfortably.

"I'm confused...oh." Realization dawns on his face. He laughs louder. "You think I'm Kurt Rush. Me. The middle man. No. I just do business." He closes his eyes for a moment, drinks in the music, and then points to the turntables, where a skinny kid in a balaclava is cutting apart his pizza with a knife and fork and stuffing these little bites into his mouth.

Oh yeah, and he's also DJing with his elbow.

I run up to the front with Shields following. 

"Hi Shieldsy," says Kurt in a small, breathy voice. All I can see are his eyes and he has lovely, dark eyes, almost feminine. "Hi, mate of Shieldsy."

"Did David tell you I liked the acoustic remix?" It's the only thing I can think of to say. I bet if I ran into God Himself on the street I'd probably just end up asking him something like why do Americans call American football 'football' if you play it using your hands. 

"You're nice," says Kurt. He looks like he's smiling from his eyes. He's finished his pizza so he gets his hands back on the decks. Big hands, long fingers. Real deft, like he was born to do this. He's in his own world by then, though, and not to mention I'd just most likely embarrassed Shields, so I backed off and went back to the dance floor.

\---

Shields lost the job as Kurt's friend after a while. I don't know why that was. Never saw much of him again but it's not like we were close in the first place. I assume he's still in the music business somewhere. I didn't ask for a third remix and so I haven't heard from Kurt in a while, except other people's stories. 

Then I got a mixtape stuck in my mail slot a week or so ago. It was all these new sounds, underground styles. Oh yeah, when I say mixtape I mean mixtape: it was actually a cassette. I have a player in my car though so I showed it to one of the new kids I was signing to the label and he nearly lost his mind.

"I don't even know why I do anything if people are already making music like that," he said to me as he was getting out of the car. Got over it pretty quick of course but they always do, musicians.

Written on the tape: "Wanna be friends?"

I'm still thinking it over. Like I'm standing at the edge of the water, not sure if I should dive.


End file.
